The Letter of Credit

Stung a little, Rotha made up her mind to try an oyster, to which her objections were twofold. Nevertheless, she was obliged to confess, she liked it; and the meal, as I said, went merrily on; Rotha from that time doing her fall share. Mrs. Carpenter was plainly refreshed and comforted, by the social as well as the material food she received.

"How good he is!" she exclaimed when their friend was gone.

"So are the oysters," said Rotha; "but I don't like him to bring them. I do not think I like Mr. Digby much, anyhow."

"You surprise me. And it is not a little ungrateful."

"I don't want to be grateful to him. And mother, I don't like him to bring oysters here!"

"Why shouldn't he, if he likes? I am sorry to see such pride in you, Rotha. It is very foolish, my child."

"Mother, it looks as if he knew we were poor."

"He knows it, of course. Am I not making his shirts?"

Rotha was silent, clearing away the dishes and oyster shells with a good deal of decision and dissatisfaction revealed in her movements.

"Everybody knows it, my child."

"I do not mind everybody. I just mind him. He is different. Why is he different, mother?"

"I suppose the difference you mean is, that he is a gentleman."

"And what are we?" said Rotha, suddenly standing still to put the question.

"We are respectable people," said her mother smiling.

"Not gentlemen, of course; but what do you call us?"

"If I could call you a Christian, Rotha, I should not care for anything else; at least I should not be concerned about it. Everything else would be right."

"Being a Christian would not make any difference in what I am talking about."

"I think it would; but I cannot talk to you about it, Ask Mr. Digby the next time he comes."

"Ask him!" cried Rotha. "I guess I will! What makes you think he is coming again, mother?"

"It would be like him."

CHAPTER V.

PRIVATE TUITION

More days passed however, than either of them expected, before Mr. Digby came again. They were days of stern cold winter weather, in which it was sometimes difficult to keep their little rooms comfortable without burning more coal than Mrs. Carpenter thought she could afford. Rotha ran along the streets to the corner shop where she bought tea and sugar, not quite so well wrapped up but that she found a quick pace useful to protect her from the cold; and Mrs. Carpenter wrought at her sewing sometimes with stiffened fingers.

"Mother," said Rotha, one day, "I think it would be better to do without tea and have a little more fire."

"I do not know how to get along without tea," Mrs. Carpenter said with a sigh.

"But you are getting along without almost everything else."

"We do very well yet," answered the mother patiently.

"Do we?" said Rotha. "If this is what you call very well – Mother, you cannot live upon tea."

"I feel as if I could not live without it."

"Has Mr. Digby given you any money yet?"

"The shirts are only just finished."

"And what are you going to do now? But he'll pay you a good many dollars, won't he, mother? Twenty four, for twelve shirts. But there is eight to be paid for rent, I know, and that leaves only sixteen. And he can afford to pay the whole twenty four, just for a dozen shirts! Mother, I don't think some people have a right to be so rich, while others are so poor."

"'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich,'" – Mrs. Carpenter answered.

"Why does he?"

"Sometimes, I think, he wishes to teach his children to depend on him."

"Couldn't they do it if they were rich?"

"There is great danger they would not."

"You would, mother."

"Perhaps not. But I have always enough, Rotha."

"Enough!" echoed Rotha. "Enough! when you haven't had a good dinner since – Mother, there he is again, I do believe!"

And she had hardly time to remove the empty tea cup and, alas! empty plates, which testified to their meagre fare, when the knock came and Mr. Digby shewed himself. He explained that he had been out of town; made careful inquiries as to Mrs. Carpenter's health; paid for the shirts; and finally turned to Rotha.

"How is my friend here doing?"

"We always go on just the same way," said Rotha. But he could see that the girl was thin, and pale; and that just at an age when she was growing fast and needing abundant food, she was not getting it.

"Ask Mr. Digby your question, Rotha," her mother said.

"I do not want to ask him any questions," the girl answered defiantly.

But Mrs. Carpenter went on.

"Rotha wants to know what a gentleman is; and I was not able to discuss the point satisfactorily with her. I told her to ask you."

Rotha did not ask, however, and there was silence.

"Rotha is fond of asking questions," Mr. Digby observed.

"What makes you think so?" she retorted.